


The First Time

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Upon Further Review [51]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Insecurity, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Human Humanoids, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: (Originally posted on Tumblr, now archived on the AO3.)Tony's a genius with tech; technically, this could include Tron, if he would let him within fifty feet of his disks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written after Captain America: The Winter Soldier was released, but before Avengers: Age of Ultron.

The first time Tron had let Tony near his code, he’d had to break his arm first.

Tron’s. Not Tony’s, though he _had_ had a fractured wrist at the time.

Up to that point, Tron would change the subject every time he tentatively brought it up, and outright _shied away from him_ the few times his hands got anywhere near his disks (clapping a hand on his shoulder, and the like). The program was in full-blown panic when Tony caught his disks during practice.

It… Well, it _hurt_ , to be honest. They were _friends_ , weren’t they?

He tried to let it go, but every time he saw Alan or Sam Flynn (even _Quorra_ , on one memorable, and actually kind of trippy occasion) handling those disks, he had to make up an excuse and leave the room before he burst out with something pathetic like ‘What did I _do_?’ or 'Why do you think I’m a screw-up?’

The only people who seemed to notice the tension was Clint, and Bucky, and that should have been his first clue.

Clint followed him to the workshop after his last escape attempt, while Bucky hovered by Tron until Sam finished repairing the jagged gouge in his leg. The degree to which Tony _did not want to talk about this_ was so great that he was ready to kick Clint out as soon as the word 'jealous’ passed his mouth, but Clint just hopped up to sit on one of his worktables, and started talking about smokescreen arrows.

Tony was _totally_ schooling him about how many ways he could upgrade those arrows when Bucky slipped in, with Sam not far behind. He wasn’t called a genius for nothing, so he trailed off as the impending intervention became apparent.

He was right.

“The first time I touched Tron’s disks,” Sam began; apparently he was going to be spokesperson for the group. “He was derezzing – _dying_ – and there was no one else around to repair him.” He paused for a moment, then, and Tony almost took the opportunity to ask about Alan, but Sam looked to be steeling himself to say something _really_ unpleasant.

“Before that, the last person to touch his disks was once his good friend – possibly his best friend, I don’t really know, and I’m not about to ask.”

“Why?” Tony couldn’t help but ask.

The look Sam gave him chilled him to the bone. “He made him into a monster.”

Over the next hour or so, Sam laid out the story of Rinzler, gathered from archive data, Quorra’s recounting, and a little bit from Tron himself. By the end of it, Bucky had his right hand clenched hard around his left, Clint was forcefully kicking out a rhythm against one of the worktable’s support bars, and Tony sat, slumped and sick, in a chair, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of someone – of _Rhodey_ – doing the equivalent of reaching into his brain and trying to cut out the parts that annoyed him.

How much easier would it be if his mind – his soul? – was sitting on his back, easily accessible.

He needed a drink.

“So it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, exactly,” Sam concluded, leaning back against a worktable covered with arc reactor components, and _there_ was a parallel Tony would rather have not thought about. “He just has to work through some of his own crap, first.”

Tony stopped pushing.

Two months later, it turned out that enough crap had been worked out. At least for a leap of faith.

He couldn’t quite remember how they’d gotten captured, but the first thing he registered as his brain went from scrambled to functioning was Tron, arms shackled to the wall and spread wide, feet bound together and chained to the floor.

Trying to rush over to help was how Tony discovered that his feet were cuffed together (as were his hands, one of which was throbbing and stiff with inflammation), though he hadn’t been attached to the wall.

“This isn’t good.”

All his tech and tools were missing, and the room looked to be made of solid concrete. The only light came from Tron’s circuits, and a few narrow slits in the – again, very solid-looking – metal door. The door hinges were on the other side, well out of reach, and he couldn’t even fit his pinky finger to the first knuckle in the tiny door slits, from the looks of them.

“This is very not good.”

“Can you make it over here?” Tron asked, suddenly reminding Tony that he wasn’t actually alone, and that the program was conscious, even if he _was_ pinned to the wall like a butterfly.

“Yeah. Yeah, just –” Tony shifted, then rolled until he could get his legs under him, and sort of inch-worm his way across the room, then brace himself against the wall until he could – again, sort of – stand against the wall, head just about level with Tron’s armpit.

“You wouldn’t happen to have one of one of those light swords or grenades up your sleeve, would you?” He huffed out in a lame attempt at humor, but Tron just shook his head sadly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

The silence stretched on for a moment, and Tony was all too aware that they were running out of time, when Tron spoke up, quietly. “My disks are still in place.”

“Really? That’s good –” Except… “Except you’re kind of stuck to the wall; I don’t think I can slip my hands behind you to get it for you.”

Tron slumped a little for a moment, then looked at his right arm in resignation. “You’ll have to break it, then.”

What?

“What?”

Tron nodded at his arm again, and Tony turned to look at it, too. “Hit it, as hard as you can, right at the edge of the cuff; it should shatter, then I can turn around.”

Was he serious? Tony looked at Tron, but he was deadly serious, and already braced against the pain.

… What other option did they have?

“… Are you sure?” Tony asked, carefully wiggling into position. It was always so disturbing to watch Tron, any part of him, shatter like glass.

Programs don’t bruise, they break.

“… I’m sure.” Tron replied, then turned his head away and braced himself.

Mentally listing off as many apology presents as he could think of, and the avenging he was going to do against the villain of the week in question, he carefully put his hands together, wincing at the pull that put on abused flesh and probably-at-least-fractured bone, then brought them down with all his force and weight behind it.

The shattered pieces of Tron’s arm fell down onto his face while he tried not to scream at the agony in his hand, then Tony had to quickly brace Tron against the wall so he could slide down until his feet touched the floor, dangling from his other arm.

Tron must have been dazed – or in shock – because Tony couldn’t think of any other explanation as Tron turned in place, then tucked his head down against his chest. “Let me stay me, please.”

“Huh?” Tony asked, reaching forward to tug the combined disks free.

“Users… can’t use disks,” Tron shuddered as the mild resistance – almost like magnetism – that held his disks on his dock gave way, and Tony held them in his bare hands for the first time. “Not in this world. Incorrect outputs.” He gave Tony a look over his shoulder, as if inviting him to try and activate the cutting edge, then tucked his head back down again.

Tony studied the disk for a while, looking for some sort of switch or outlet – he wasn’t even going to _try_ separating them, _that_ was a physics headache for another day – but no dice. He looked from the disk, to where Tron dangled, down to the ragged edge of his arm. Tron could _maybe_ hold it in the hand that was shackled, but how would he –? “What am I supposed to –?”

He cut himself short when everything clicked.

Only Tron could use the disks.

Tron had one arm free.

That arm was damaged, so he couldn’t use the disks.

Tony could fix it, though.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised as he slid down the wall to sit, propping the disk against his knees so he could reach it, and got to work.

After they broke out, Tron still had his preferences over who handled his repairs or upgrades. Alan was first – even above Sam – but he was also often busy. Sam was next, which made sense considering the closeness of their relationship. Quorra could do it in a pinch, after that, but more and more often, Tron would check with Tony.

When asked about this, Tron just shrugged and said, “I trust him.”

Clearly, more presents were in order.


End file.
